


The Beard

by NoShabbyTigers



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Fun, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-05-25 11:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6192553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoShabbyTigers/pseuds/NoShabbyTigers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was snowing in Edinburgh and Molly Hooper was on a mission. Trapped by a blizzard in a posh hotel, she had been sent by Sherlock to deliver secret information to Mycroft Holmes.  So, why had Sherlock sent her, where was his surly bastard of a brother and how thoroughly was the git going to ruin her not so tropical vacation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story a long time ago and it has languished, poised on the verge of being quite fun. I hope you enjoy the first few chapters and now that my kitchen remodel is done and the days are getting longer, I hope to get back to it. It was inspired by a photograph of Mark Gatiss which I am sure many of you know or will guess at after reading my description. The tags and character list may grow as the work matures as well. 
> 
> I own nothing and thank the wonderful writing team of Moffat and Gatiss for use of these marvelous characters.

The Beard

_[A beard] gives fierceness to the warrior, and renders the lover irresistible. ~Anonymous, The Ladies' Repository, "Editor's Table: Beards," September 1862_

 

Chapter 1

Where the bloody hell was Mycroft Holmes? Molly glanced around the opulent restaurant in frustration but did not see him. She hadn’t seen him for months but that was no great loss as he wasn’t exactly her favorite person.

It was bad enough that Sherlock had sent her on a wild goose chase to Edinburgh via a circuitous train route that included several overnight stays in obscure locations but he had bagged out on her at the last minute when a far more interesting murder case had come up. All this drama and secrecy to deliver a thumb drive to his damned brother? Didn’t they have top secret couriers who looked like harmless old grannies who did this type of work?

He had promised that they would go together to Scotland and she, like the idiot she was, had believed him. So, she took a week of her precious holiday time and instead of going to Jamaica as she had planned, she was sitting in Scotland in early winter, wearing her woolies and hating life. She had hoped that this trip and the proximity it had offered, might tip their relationship over into something more than mere friendship. She had even packed her better clothes, underthings and a lovely floor length satin peignoir set that had cost her most of week’s salary. Well, that had turned out to be a delusion. She should’ve just packed her comfy granny pants and her old ratty flannels. Hope springs eternal in an idiot’s heart.

On the bright side, the train trip had been pleasant and the small inns that Sherlock had reserved for her were comfortable and had excellent food. She had seen a good bit of the north that she had never seen before and was now ensconced in a city that she had always wanted to explore but somehow had never gotten around to visiting. It wasn’t Jamaica but it was interesting in spite of the freezing weather. He had told her that Mycroft could be found at a hotel called The Witchery and had reserved a suite for her there. The name did not bode well but she was sure that it was comfortable. She had three days in the city and as soon as she located Mycroft and handed off the thumb drive, she would be free to see the sites before catching the train back to London.

It was late afternoon and the light was waning. She had caught a cab at the station and as the vehicle drew up to the hotel entrance Molly could not help a rising feeling of excitement as she saw the heraldic entry sign, the gray stone facade and the gothic church right next store. The hotel was right in the middle of historic Edinburgh on the Royal Mile and quite close to castle hill and several other locations she had planned on visiting. Yes, it was not Jamaica. Yes, it was cold and starting to snow. Yes, she had no clue as to where Mycroft Holmes might be. However, this place looked fantastic and she could hardly wait to get settled.

She paid the cabby and dashed into the lobby. Goodness, this was a bit much, all Jacobean and Gothic thrown together helter-skelter in a pleasing if over the top manner. It looked beyond expensive, what on earth had Sherlock been thinking? The young woman at the desk smiled at her. “Good afternoon, welcome to The Witchery. Your name?”

Molly smiled back. “Molly Hooper.” The woman tapped on the computer, nodded to Molly and reached for a set of keys. “You are in the Heriot Suite, Miss Hooper. James will take your bags and see you to your room.”

“Thank you,” said Molly looking about her in amazement at the sheer opulence of the place. She followed the young man with her bags down a rabbit warren of halls and then up a stone staircase to the second floor. They came to a dark door with a brass plaque, the young man opened the door and they entered a dramatic black and gold hallway followed by an oak paneled sitting room.  Molly closed her eyes and inhaled. The scent of wood, age and some subtle and undefinable spice permeated the space. She smiled to herself – it even smelled expensive. Beyond the sitting room was the bedroom, with a huge four poster bed draped in green and gold and beyond that a spacious dressing area and closet that led to the most amazing bathroom Molly had ever seen. It was a red and gold gothic dream with a painted vaulted ceiling, mirrored walls and gigantic free standing bathtub. Molly laughed in delight.

James, who had dropped her bag in the wardrobe room, smiled at her. “Quite something, isn’t it Miss? This is one of the hotel’s newer suites built in 2010. There are bigger suites, of course, but this one is my personal favorite. It has just the right balance of elegance and luxury without being too gaudy. By the by, you have champagne waiting for you just in here.” James gestured to a side table in the sitting room where a bottle and a silver server sat next to two glasses.

“It’s quite something, all right.” Molly thought as she contemplated drinking the whole bottle by herself. She shook her head and returned to the sitting room. Might not be a good idea until after she found Mycroft. Sherlock had certainly gone all out and so much so that she was now getting a bit suspicious. Why had he checked her into such an extravagant hotel? Was he trying to make up for Jamaica?  If so, he had definitely outdone himself.

“James, before you go, can you tell me a bit about the hotel? I’m sure it has an interesting history. Can you spare a few minutes?” Molly sat on a small sofa and gestured to him to sit. He did, perching awkwardly on the edge of a very straight backed Gothic chair. “I can take a few minutes, Miss, but I can’t be long. We are expecting a full house tonight and I need to get back downstairs.”

“Just a short overview would be fine.” Molly smiled at the young man who seemed a pleasant sort. She would definitely give him a reasonable tip for his trouble.

“The Witchery hotel is over forty years old and consists of several historic buildings. It is named for the hundreds of women burned at the stake on castle hill at the height of the witch scares in the 16th and 17th centuries. Not very nice, I’m sure, but a part of our history none the less. The buildings have been occupied in one way or another for 400 years, the oldest dating back to 1595. We have eight luxury suites with another coming on line soon and though the décor is not for everyone, the hotel has long been known as the most romantic place to stay in all of Scotland and some say the world. You must check out our restaurants for lunch and dinner and tea is available just across the street.”

James smiled at Molly. “How’s that for a quick history, Miss? If you want more information, you can reference our web site or talk to our front desk staff. Also, have a care when you go out as a Met amber warning has been issued for up to 15 cm of snow. It probably won’t be that bad but it’s best to be prepared.” James rose. “Now, if you’ll excuse me Miss. I hope you enjoy your stay and if you need anything at all, please call.” Molly walked him to the door and pressed a small gratuity into his hand.

“Thank you, James, I appreciate your time.” Molly smiled at the young man one more time before shutting the door, leaning back against the wooden panels and surveying the splendor that was her room.  Sherlock must indeed be feeling guilty about Jamaica if he booked her here for three nights at his expense. Let it snow as even if she was stuck in her suite for part of her stay she would be perfectly comfortable. A suite fit for a princess she thought as she walked through the sumptuous space, her hand brushing across the fine fabrics as she gawked and snapped photos with her mobile.

She was simultaneously glad and sad that she had brought so many nice clothes; glad because she could construct an elaborate romantic fantasy around this lovely hotel and actually look the part and sad because she had no one with which to share that fantasy. She stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bed.  No use dwelling on the negatives when she had three days of exploration and pampering ahead of her. She had always been comfortable being alone and she would be damned if her solitude would ruin her time in Edinburgh. It was time to settle in, find Mycroft Holmes to deliver the package and enjoy herself.

******

Molly scanned the thin lunch crowd the restaurant in frustration. She had checked at the front desk and there was no Mr. Holmes registered. If he was using a pseudonym she would kill Sherlock for leaving out this small detail.  She could text him to ask but even if he gave her hints the hotel was not likely to give her carte blanche to their current guest list. Also, she hated to admit to Sherlock that she had not yet found Mycroft as he had sent her on what he had considered to be a simple mission. How hard could it be so hard to find a man over six feet tall and as distinctive as Mycroft in a hotel that only had eight suites? She would give it another half day before she was willing to give in and text Sherlock.

She took a seat at a table near the windows. Snow was swirling about in a stiff wind and she could barely see across the street. She looked around as inconspicuously as she could but saw no one faintly resembling Mycroft Holmes. Thank goodness she had brought a book with her as a cover for her watchfulness. She was having a fine time but was worried about her mission and the weather reports. It wouldn’t do to fail Sherlock or get stuck in Edinburgh in a blizzard. This wild goose chase would eat up the lion’s share of her holiday but she had taken enough time off to give her some fun days with mates once she returned from Scotland. She thought back on her morning and sighed.

After a wonderful sleep in her giant bed and her delightful in-room breakfast, she had dressed carefully in an ivory turtleneck, her new Liberty scarf and her wool glen plaid slacks. Braving the deteriorating weather she had been out and about all morning. She wandered through the Museum of Edinburgh fascinated with the history of the city and loving the decorative arts displays. She was amused by yet another rabbit warren floor plan and though it was a bit confusing, the form appealed to her. She had especially enjoyed the Scottish pottery which ranged in design from fairly classical serving pieces to whimsical animals.

She had been standing in front of one of the free standing display cases studying a charming glazed fish container when she caught a glimpse of an attractive man on the other side of the gallery.  No harm in checking out some of the more scenic inhabitants along with the crockery, she thought to herself as she adjusted her site lines to see him better. He was tall, dark ginger and was intently reading one of the descriptive placards. He had a full beard slightly lighter than his hair and tortoise shell glasses. He was dressed in a herringbone tweed jacket and corduroy slacks.  Come on, she thought; turn around so I can see your face.  He shifted slightly and she quickly switched focus to the green and brown glazed piece in front of her hoping not to be caught staring. When she looked up again he was gone. She casually walked to the gallery entrance but he was nowhere to be seen.  Oh well, she wasn’t up for a meaningless chat and an uninterested stare anyway. She should stop fantasizing about romantic assignations with handsome Scots and get back to looking for Mycroft Holmes. Speaking of uninterested stares…only Mycroft could make a person feel totally invisible with just a look.

By early afternoon she had thoroughly worn herself out and as she left the museum, mind focused on lunch and Mycroft, she was hit with a blast of icy air and thick snow. An afternoon in might be just the thing as it appeared that several shops and attractions had already posted closed signs. She would need to check out the weather report once back at the hotel. Thank goodness for those woolies she thought as a blast of wind caught at her clothes as she rounded the last corner back to the hotel. She entered the lobby and decided to take advantage of the restaurant for lunch. Still no sign of Mycroft but if he was that hard to find, he could just wait for the data on the damned thumb drive.

She ordered and took her book out of her bag. A leisurely cuppa, a nice lunch and a book, what more could a girl want? Well, that good looking Scot might be a nice diversion but he was lost to her hesitation and the storm outside. She shook her head and smiled to herself. Always looking and never acting that was the story of her life, at least as far as men were concerned. She had pined after Sherlock for years and though that phase of her life was mercifully over for the most part and they had become friends, she still allowed him to manipulate her, bewitched by those beautiful blue eyes and rare smile. Of course, the friendship fact hadn’t stopped her from packing her satin nightgown had it? She was well and truly an idiot where Sherlock was concerned.

What would she have said to the Scot anyway? Hello, you’re amazing looking, want to have a drink? I have this dead sexy satin nightdress in my hotel room I would simply love you to see? Only in her dreams. She just wasn’t that sort though she sometimes wished she was more like the brave and adventuresome women that she favored in novels. Speaking of which, the next chapter was calling to her and since she had let her real Scot pass her by she might as well indulge herself in a little Jamie Frazier.

 She was engrossed in her book and her third cup of tea when a discreet cough startled her out of her reverie. “Miss Hooper, it has come to my attention you have been looking for me in a rather haphazard and ineffectual manner. I assume that our mutual friend sent you?” Molly’s jaw dropped and eyes widened as she stared at the man standing across the table from her, his hands lightly resting on the back of a chair.  It was the man from the museum, it was her handsome Scot, and it was bloody Mycroft Holmes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Molly stared at him for a long moment before putting down her book and nervously gesturing for him to sit. He looked like Mycroft Holmes but no Mycroft Holmes she had ever seen before. His hair was too long and in spite of being thinning, it had a natural wave which softened his face.  The full beard and moustache hid his characteristic pallor and the tortoise shell glasses with their rust and brown hues made his stormy blue eyes snap. The herringbone tweed jacket and sweater underneath were a soft grey blue topped off with a tattersall button-down and a dark maroon knit tie. The collar was slightly undone as was the tie. That detail more than any of the other dramatic changes struck her hard.  Even at midnight on Christmas Mycroft Holmes was never anything but fully buttoned up. He had dropped his polished armor and taken on the visual persona of an academic or an artist. He looked damn good to her which was even more of a shock. What the bloody hell was going on?

Mycroft stared back at her, noting the vast improvement in her clothes, the colorful but tasteful scarf and her carefully applied, subtle makeup. She had caught his eye back at the museum with her smart wool coat and fall of long hair, now streaked and cut in layers. Her eyes were a medium brown that were even now studying him with what looked like vague horror. Odd that he had never noticed her eyes before as they were one of her best features; soft and melting in her small face. He had contemplated striking up a conversation when the attractive woman had turned to look at a display and he realized with a shock it was Molly Hooper. What was she doing in Scotland? He instantly looked away and studied her obliquely as she studied him. Best not to be discovered at this point. Could it have been Miss Hooper who had been inquiring after him at the front desk? He shifted his gaze to better see her and she instantly looked down at the display case. He quickly exited the gallery his irritation growing.

His mind snapped back to the present. Obviously the two years they had both waited for Sherlock to return had wrought some inevitable changes. Little Molly Hooper had chosen to grow up and while her taste in literature was still regrettable, she now looked like the professional woman she always had been. He had been working undercover for months, had just wrapped things up and did not need a distraction. The question was why was she in Edinburgh in the middle of a snow storm? Sherlock was the only answer. They had spoken weeks ago via mobile and Sherlock had suggested Mycroft go to Scotland to decompress and in particular, Edinburgh. What was he up to and why he had sent Molly Hooper instead of coming himself

The silence at the table grew long and the only sound was the hiss of snow against the restaurant windows and the muted conversations of the other diners. The quiet was finally broken by Molly’s soft, cautious voice. “Hullo Mycroft, I have been looking for you. I have a delivery from our mutual friend who was supposed to be here but was unavoidably detained. Let me finish my tea and I will fetch it for you.”

Hmmmm, not frenetic and obviously less intimidated by him than in the past. Also, unsure of their security status as she purposefully did not mention Sherlock’s name. Her eyes were steady after their initial surprise had worn off and she hadn’t stuttered once. He could not fault her for not recognizing him as he surprised himself every morning when he looked in the mirror. He had cast off the British Government and since he had been forced into the field he had decided to shirk the grey and blue tailored trappings of the office and dress like the rest of the human race, albeit better than most. He was still not as handsome as his younger brother but he cut a nice figure as made obvious by Miss Hooper’s frank appraisal of him in the museum. Not that he cared, of course, she was Sherlock’s little pet after all. He especially liked the glasses which he thought quite becoming though his eyes needed no correction. He lowered his head and gazed at her over the rims. “Too public here, I shall meet you at your suite…” He paused and took out an old school gold pocket watch. “…in approximately ten minutes. Heriot, am I correct?” She nodded and he rose and left the restaurant.

Well, that was surpassingly odd, Molly thought as she put together her things and a signed for her lunch. Her short lived Scottish fantasy had been crushed by the grim reality that was Mycroft Holmes. He might look differently but his cool and imperious manner was exactly the same. Oh well, at least now she could hand off the thumb drive and go back to enjoying the city. There was one on every street corner as her mum used to say and maybe her Scotsman was still out there waiting for her. Pity that the museum man had turned out to be Mycroft Holmes as that man had been a dream. However, no matter what he looked like, Mycroft Holmes was a nightmare and best to be avoided. Pity but that’s the way things were.  He had dropped his signature priss temporarily and had conversed with her like a real human being but he was still Mycroft. It would be good to be done with him and get on with her holiday.

She left the restaurant and was on the way back to her room when she passed James in the hall rolling a luggage cart.  He smiled at her. “Are you enjoying your stay, Miss?  I am sorry about the weather as it usually doesn’t snow that much in the city but the Met weather warning just went to red and the town is starting to shut down. We’ve had three guests leave early and the hotel is emptying out. The forecast has been revised from 15 cm to up 30 cm with blowing and drifting thrown in just to make things interesting. We had one of these storms last year and the city was shut down for an entire week.”

Molly looked at him in alarm but thanked him as she went on her way. The last thing she needed was to be stuck in Edinburgh. She had two more nights here but the storm was just really starting. She would need to look for alternate and more affordable lodging soon as her reservations would not carry her through the end of the week. She would just have to hope that the storm would abate and that the trains would be running in two days. Damn Sherlock all to hell, she should have blown him off and gone to Jamaica.

She climbed the stone stairs and unlocked her door.  The thumb drive was in her suitcase in the dressing room and she would just have enough time to fetch it before Mycroft showed up. She would get rid of him as soon as she could and then text Sherlock to let him know that she had found his brother. Beard or no beard, Saville Row or Ralph Lauren, he was still bloody Mycroft Holmes no matter the packaging. She unpacked her long ignored laptop, logged into the hotel Wi-Fi and started casting about for another place to stay should the storm not abate. Pity she would have to leave this snug and plush nest as she was sure it was way beyond her budget but would check the rates on-line just to make sure. She might be able to extend her reservation one more night if it wasn’t too dear.

She set her laptop on the desk in the sitting room and plugged it in. Good, no issues with the hotel Wi-Fi and she connected to the internet almost immediately. Nothing on e-mail except from random chatter from her book club friends. No meeting this week due to snow in London. Just as well as she was now unsure as to when she might get back and she hadn’t read the damned book anyway. 

There was a soft knock on her door. Probably Mycroft, well he was prompt she could give him that. She opened the door and he slipped in soundlessly shutting the door behind him. She still couldn’t believe he looked so good. She had always thought him odd looking but the facial hair really worked on him.

“Where is the thumb drive?” he asked tonelessly and she handed it to him. “May I?” he asked gesturing towards her lap top.”

“Certainly.” she replied and crossed the room to sit with her back to the screen to give him some privacy at the desk. What was up with him? She picked up her book from where she had set it on the side table, kicked off her shoes and curled up into the oversized wing chair, her feet tucked neatly underneath her. She watched him reflected in a mirror on the opposite wall as he efficiently plugged in and opened the drive. The best course of action was to ignore the new and disturbingly attractive Mycroft Holmes as much as possible. He would scan the contents here and then take it with him. She would enjoy her remaining days in Edinburgh, catch the train and that would be that.

A sharp utterance from Mycroft jolted her from her seat.  He sounded pretty irritated. “Damn and blast! Miss Hooper, did you happen to look at the contents of this drive?” He turned and looked at her over the rims of his glasses.

“No, of course not.  Sherlock gave it to me and told me where to find you. Why would I look at it?  I haven’t even cracked my lap top since I left London. Not my business. Why do you ask? Is there something wrong?” Mycroft gestured for her to approach and Molly looked over his shoulder at the file open on her computer. 

The word processing program was open and there was only one line in an old school script on the screen. “Have a good time?” she looked at Mycroft with puzzlement on her face.  “Are you sure that is the only file on the drive? Did the real file get corrupted or something?  That can’t be all that it says. Can it?”

Mycroft’s face was a mask of suppressed anger. “No, that is not all it says, Miss Hooper. There are several more pages all laid out like some damned scavenger hunt. I spoke to Sherlock a few weeks ago from Wales and told him I needed a diversion as I was going mad now that my assignment was finished. My damned superiors made me take two weeks off which was highly irritating. Sherlock said he would try to come up with something that might entertain me and recommended I travel to Edinburgh and he would send me a nice knotty problem to solve.”

Molly’s eyes widened and she looked at him with puzzlement. “A nice knotty problem to solve? I don’t get it.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes at her. Good lord, she might look differently but she was still Molly Hooper. How could she not see it? “Miss Hooper, Sherlock sent you to me under a false pretense. You are supposed to help me solve these “knotty problems”. He sent you to me for entertainment purposes though I can’t for the life of me imagine why. The thumb drive and mysterious mission were just a pretext. I am going to have his head.”

Molly looked at him aghast, her own anger rising. “You mean he sent me all the up here to entertain himself? Entertain you? I gave up my trip to Jamaica for a whim? I am going to kill that bloody bastard.” Molly whipped out her mobile and started tapping away on a text, her face set in fury.

_How dare you? Pawning me off as a holiday treat for Mycroft of all people? You bloody bastard, how dare you send me half way across the UK on a snipe hunt just to entertain yourself? I am now stuck in Edinburgh in a freaking blizzard with your bastard of a brother. I don’t care if this is the nicest place I have ever stayed in my life, I am never going to speak to you again._

Just then there was a soft knock on the door. Molly, still fuming, shouted at the door. “Not now, go away!”

There was another knock and James’ quiet voice could be heard through the door. “Are you all right, Miss? I have a delivery for you but I just heard shouting through the door.”

Molly stood in the middle of the sitting room, looked up at the coffered ceiling in frustration and closed her eyes.  She willed her anger down, blew out an impatient breath and shooting a look at Mycroft to stay where he was, she opened the door. James gave her an uneasy smile and handed her a wrapped box while surreptitiously glancing over her shoulder at the seated Mycroft. “This just came for you, Miss. There is a card too just there.” He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes never leaving the dangerous looking man in the sitting room. “Are you sure you are all right?”

Molly forced herself to smile. “It’s all right, James, just a small disagreement with an old family friend. Nothing to fuss about. I am just fine. Thank you for delivering the package. I will call you if I need you.” She slowly closed the door in his face, the package in her arms and turned back to Mycroft.

He spoke softly as if knowing James was still at the door listening. “You know it’s from Sherlock. Open the card and let’s see what he has to say.” His face was a study but his anger had faded and now he just looked tired.

Molly detached the card from the package and opened it. She read the card and then handed it to Mycroft to read as she tore off the wrapping on the package and opened it.

_Dear Molly and Mycroft,_

_I am sure that you are both cursing me soundly right now but I hope this small tribute will take the edge off. As I said, have a good time._

_SH_

Molly handed the bottle to Mycroft with a puzzled frown and he studied it closely. He looked at her with a tight smile and his eyebrows quirked. “Humph, he must be feeling guilty as this is a bottle of very expensive scotch.” He looked at her doubtfully but then seemed to make up his mind about something. “I highly recommend a drink. Would you like a drink?”

Molly looked at him suspiciously but nodded in the affirmative.  She was stuck in Scotland for no reason at all and a drink sounded just fine even if it was poured by the hand of Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft carefully cut the seal with a small knife found in the table drawer and extracted the cork. He waved the bottle under his nose and moaned softly, an incredibly erotic sound in the quiet room. Molly cut her eyes at him in surprise but he just shrugged. “Like scotch a bit, do you?” she asked. Not speaking he handed the bottle off to Molly and she held it under her nose, but instead of a moan, the scent of the harsh liquor made her sneeze violently. She handed it back to Mycroft, her eyes watering.

“I think I will have a small taste but it smells like it could take the finish off of the table.  I have my own poison right here.” She turned and opened the small, well-hidden mini-frig and took out the bottle of champagne. “I had been thinking about carrying this home and sharing it with Sherlock but since he has mutually conned us, I think I will go ahead and drink it now. I will take a look at his damnable missive in the morning.”

Mycroft efficiently poured himself a healthy dollop of scotch for himself and a tiny amount for Molly. He handed off the glass to her to sample and set to work opening the champagne. “This is a surprisingly nice vintage for a complimentary bottle even for a fine hotel like this one.  I suspect that Sherlock paid extra for an upgrade. You will like this very…” Mycroft did not get to finish his sentence as he was interrupted by harsh coughing from Molly who held out the now empty scotch glass and looked at him accusingly.

“Are you trying to kill me on top of everything else?” she squeaked, her eyes running. “This crap tastes like mouldy cough syrup that someone set on fire.  You actually drink this stuff because you like it?”

Mycroft drew himself up to his full height and looked down at the small pathologist with something akin to pity on his face. “I will have you know that you have just tasted one of the finest single malt scotches in the world. This is a 25 year old bottling of Macallan and this bottle would set you back close to a full week’s salary.”

Molly’s eyes grew wide and she was speechless. People actually paid that much for the honor of drinking this paint thinner? There was definitely no accounting for taste.

Mycroft finished removing the wire muselet from the champagne cork and gently worked out the cork with his long fingers, turning away from Molly. There was a sharp pop and the cork fell into his hand and he tossed it to Molly. “As I was saying before you choked on the single malt, this is one of the best champagnes in Europe.” He poured a glass and lifted it to the light. “Charles Heidsieck Blanc de Millenaire 1995. Oh, you are in for a treat.”

He handed her the glass, an excited look on his face. “Close your eyes inhale the bouquet and tell me what you smell.”

Molly took the glass from Mycroft, momentarily forgetting her irritation, their fingers brushing briefly as the exchange was made. Was this some sort of test? The bloody bastard had better not make fun of her. She studied the wine in her glass, closed her eyes and inhaled. “I smell…almonds? And fruit of some kind, maybe dates? I also smell something like caramel?” She opened her eyes and looked at him questioningly.

“Very good, you have a sensitive nose.  Most people might catch the almonds but few the subtler nuances in the wine. Nicely done, Miss Hooper, now taste it.” Mycroft almost smiled as she raised the glass to her lips. “I promise you that this will make up for the scotch.”

Molly lifted the flute and took a small sip.  The flavor exploded on her tongue and the chilled bubbles tickled her nose in a most pleasing fashion. Dry yet fruity with a caramel undertone, Mycroft had been correct; it was the best champagne she had ever tasted. 

She looked at him and made her own decision. “Tell you what, how about I share my champagne with you if you have had enough of your paint thinner? Might as well make the best of things since it is getting late and we can’t strangle Sherlock until we get back to London.” She handed him the second flute, poured it full and topped off her own. She raised her glass to briefly his. “Here’s to Edinburgh, the incoming blizzard, an unexpected scavenger hunt and this fine old hotel. How about we drink this one and order another and charge it to Sherlock?”

Mycroft nodded, raised one eyebrow, lifted the flute to his lips and drank.  He might be stuck here with silly little Molly Hooper but the room was pleasant, the champagne delightful and there was nowhere else to go. Miss Hooper was correct, they would respectively strangle his recalcitrant little brother on their return. If nothing else, they could make an even bigger dent in Sherlock’s Amex account. Tomorrow was indeed another day and dear Sherlock would pay in more way than one.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Molly woke slowly to the dim light of dawn seeping through the partially drawn bed curtain. She was still in her clothes and was covered with a light throw. What on earth?  Oh, now she remembered.  She and Mycroft Holmes had made rather merry last night, he in his rather uptight and prissy way and she as she had always wanted to do, extravagantly and on someone else’s dime. After the first three flutes, she purposely chose to forget he was bloody Mycroft Holmes and decided he was her handsome Scot, at least for as long as the alcohol lasted.  He had been surprisingly charming and amusing and they had spent a pleasant evening getting mutually stinking. She vaguely remembered a light dinner delivered via room service. Also, they had indeed ordered another bottle of champagne and Molly was shocked at the price when she signed for it at the door. Oh well, Sherlock deserved some serious heart burn over his Amex bill at the end of the month.

She had a dry mouth but though she had consumed at least most of a bottle of champagne, her head was muzzy but did not hurt.  She guessed that was the difference between cheap and expensive champagne. She had remembered admonishing Mycroft to drink some water and take an NSAID as a hangover preventative but remembered very little else after the second battle was consumed. At least she had kept her clothes on in spite of her handsome Scot fantasy. Thank goodness for that as jumping Mycroft Holmes was not exactly high on her list. Mycroft must have put her to bed and slipped out. She would have to find him later and thank him for the pleasant evening. She smiled to herself. She had never anticipated in her wildest dreams spending a pleasant evening with Mycroft Holmes. Miracles could indeed happen outside the church.

She stretched, turned over and instantly froze. Hells bells, what had she done last night? The bed was wide but she was not alone. Mycroft was asleep, still in his clothes though he had removed his tie and jacket. He too was covered with a light throw and had lay down as far away from her as physically possible which was quite far given the width of the enormous bed. Oh what a pity he was Mycroft Holmes. His face was soft and peaceful in sleep and her heart twisted to think that this beautiful man was such a right bastard when he was awake. He looked so much younger and so much more accessible with that beard. She wondered why he had grown it and felt herself wishing he might keep it. Well, for a right bastard he hadn’t been too bad to drink with last night. Maybe they could be friends after they had dealt severely with Sherlock? Maybe…

Well, she thought, this was awkward. She needed the loo quite badly and there was an odd Holmes in her room. Odd indeed; she he stifled a giggle as she thought of what Sherlock might think of his older brother spending the night with her, albeit chastely. She slid quietly to the edge of the bed and her feet had just hit the floor when he spoke from his recumbent position. “Good morning, Miss Hooper, I do hope that the champagne has not been too hard on you.” She turned to look at him and he was gazing carefully at her, his eyes watchful gauging her reaction to his presence. She felt a sudden wave of shyness combined with embarrassment and hoped she had not been too effusive last night under the influence.

She wanted to be indignant but instead found herself smiling back at him. “I am quite fine, thank you. Would you like to stay for breakfast? I am sure the breakfast basket will be delivered soon and there is plenty for two. Do you prefer coffee or tea?  If you give me a moment, I can make sure they deliver the correct choice.” Oh dear, she was rattling.

He sat up and left the bed, casually folding the throw and setting it on a nearby chair. He was also watching her carefully, still assessing her reaction to his presence. “I would love to stay for breakfast but think it best to head back to my room for a bit to clean up and change clothes. Shall I come back in say forty minutes or so?”

Relief coursed through her as she was sure her hair was a site and she dearly needed to brush her teeth. “Lovely, so what shall it be?  Coffee or tea?”

He sat briefly and slipped on his shoes. Molly was struck on how intimate seeing him pad across the room in his socks seemed to her. Argyles and in interesting color palette as well. She wondered if his costuming extended to his choice in underwear. Stow those thoughts, Miss Molly, and do not forget who you are dealing with.

“Coffee I think, with cream.” He rose and picked up his jacket. “I will be back in forty minutes and perhaps we can make a plan for the day? There is much to see in the city and we have Sherlock’s little game to consider.”

Molly looked at him suspiciously. “You have to be kidding…You want to spend the day with me? Even knowing that Sherlock set us up?”

He shrugged. “Why not? We just spent the night together after all.” Molly looked embarrassed and Mycroft gave her a wry smile. “We might as well enjoy ourselves while we’re here.” He walked over to the window and drew back the curtain. Looking down at the street, his eyebrows went up and he gestured for her to join him. “Oh my, we may be in Edinburgh longer than anticipated.” The world outside the window was stark white with small drifts of snow on the ground with more falling. They looked at each other and laughed as Molly showed him to the door. “Sherlock’s Amex card may be in store for quite a workout.”

******

Mycroft was a good as his word and joined her for breakfast and coffee in her room. She had just enough time to clean up and put on fresh clothes when there was a soft knock at the door. The breakfast basket was supposed to come with tea but it took no effort at all to get coffee instead. He took his coffee with cream but no sugar and drank three cups to her two.  There was indeed plenty for breakfast and just as the day before there were hot pastries, yoghurt and fruit. There was also a nice selection of charcuterie and cheeses and so they took their time and lingered for more than an hour drinking their coffee and eating in small courses. It was quite pleasant to sip hot coffee in comfortable chairs and watch the snow fall outside.

Molly had logged onto her laptop and was checking out the rates at the hotel. She clicked the room rates button and inadvertently let out a squeak. £325 a night and he had booked her for three nights? Was he insane? Even with the soaring hotel rates across the country, this was indeed a lordly price to pay for a place to sleep. She had one more night on Sherlock and then would have to find an alternate place to stay.

Mycroft studied her across the small table. “Problem?” he asked, taking a sip of coffee.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Sherlock booked me here for three nights and tonight is the last. I had no idea how expensive this hotel was and now, in spite the storm, I will have to relocate until the weather improves and the trains start running again.” Molly frowned as she studied the long list of hotel rates. “Goodness, I had no idea Edinburgh was so expensive. It’s not even high season.”

Mycroft looked at her thoughtfully over the rim of his coffee cup. “I am certain Sherlock would not want you to suffer but even I think that we have put an adequate strain on his Amex card for now. I have a two bedroom suite and you are more than welcome to move in for the duration of your stay. I have the room reserved for the next week and I am sure the snow will be managed by then. It will save you the trouble of moving hotels and any more added expense.”  He had an odd grin on his face that puzzled Molly. It was almost feral and it made her slightly nervous.

Molly studied his face across the table as she sipped her own coffee. She was unsure. One night after several bottles of champagne was one thing but several nights in the same hotel suite with Mycroft Holmes? He was behaving himself right now but how long would that last? She trusted him but only so far and though she was sure that he would rather die than be inappropriate with her, he was still a nasty bastard. What on earth was he thinking? It appeared that he wanted them to play into Sherlock’s little farce for some reason. She looked at him again, his eyes were downright merry. Her eyebrows came together and then suddenly, the light came on.

“Ah… you are plotting some way to get back at Sherlock aren’t you? He already knows somehow that you did not return to your suite last night, doesn’t he? You staying in my suite was not a random act at all, was it? Oooo, you are a crafty bastard. I am beginning to like this idea.” Molly shook her head. Leave it to the Holmes brothers.

Mycroft’s eyebrows quirked and her gave her an evil grin. “Perhaps… If you are willing, I think we could make this little play quite interesting for my little brother.  Are you game?”

Molly returned the grin and lifted her own cup of coffee in a salute. She certain thought that Sherlock deserved a bit of a lesson if nothing else. He owed her big time for Jamaica and it would be fun to have him on a bit. She had often fantasized of somehow getting her own back for all the times he had ignored or marginalized her but had always been too nice to act on it. She was just too nice but Mycroft was not so handicapped. He was smart, ruthless and was the one person that had Sherlock’s number completely. Let the games begin.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update! What a concept! A lot more fun and mayhem yet to come and if all goes well I may finish in 2017.

Chapter 4

Later that next morning Molly studied the sheets that Mycroft had the front desk print out for her. There seemed to be one major objective each day for three days running. Each sheet listed a date, a time and a single word. The first said “cold”, the second said “hot” and the third said “escape”. A map was included with each location marked with a red star. A specific address would be texted thirty minutes prior to each little diversion. What the fresh hell was he thinking?  She was suspicious and irritated but also trusting enough to think that Sherlock actually meant what he said when he told them to have “fun”. Though why he had seen fit to throw her in with Mycroft she had no idea.

After breakfast, Mycroft had excused himself and once again retreated to his own suite. She had been relieved when he left as she needed sometime to process his new and surprisingly attractive persona, the fact that he had spent the night in her suite and, in spite of their mutual dislike of each other, they would be sharing his suite in less than sixteen hours. They had mutually decided to stay in and not venture out today. Good lord, she should take a nap too as she had perhaps overindulged last night and though she had slept, she was still a bit tired from the late night and alcohol. She just hoped that she wouldn’t learn anything too appalling about him over the next few days that she couldn’t later scrub from her mind. Thank goodness that they would not have to share a lavatory.

Having slept in and eaten breakfast so late, he recommended they forgo lunch and meet up later for dinner downstairs. Molly thought he might be thinking about a nap but who knows what he was really thinking except perhaps how to throw the ultimate spanner into Sherlock’s plans.

She spent the day reading, drinking tea and watching more snow fall. She had also caught a quick nap and now felt almost like herself again. She changed clothes as well, selecting an ivory cowl neck cashmere jumper that had been quite dear but too soft and self-indulgent to resist. She finished off the look with a pair of dark camel hair slacks and her good gold earrings. She took care with her hair and makeup too though she wasn’t quite sure why. It was only Mycroft after all and he could care less about what she wore or how she looked.  However, she was pleased with what she saw as she looked in the mirror and that was enough for her. Satisfied she was decent, she left her room and walked down to the dining room. After a brief look around, she found Mycroft sitting near the fireplace waiting and looking quite relaxed. The lights had been dimmed for the evening meal and the flicker of candlelight from small glass fixtures on the tables softly lit the room.

He stood as she reached him and pulled out a chair for her, his hand just grazing her shoulder. He had changed clothes as well and wore a soft green windowpane check sports jacket over an espresso turtleneck. In most men she would have thought the combination a bit mannered, but it somehow suited Mycroft. The beard and glasses were perfect and she smiled at him in spite of herself. At least she could enjoy the scenery as they played out this farce for Sherlock.

Mycroft sat in the chair next to her, looked at her quizzically and cocked his head. “I am glad to see you too, Miss Hooper. I trust you had a pleasant afternoon finishing your novel. I indulged in a nap and caught up with my email. Not a peep from our mutual friend but it would not surprise me if he knows exactly what we are doing. I am thinking he has bribed someone on the hotel staff to keep an eye on us.”

He paused, looked around and shifted his chair so close to hers that their legs brushed. “I hope you will forgive me for giving them something to look at.” He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips, all the while his eyes locked with hers. “Ivory suits you and you look quite lovely in the candlelight.”

Molly had startled slightly when their legs made contact under the table and she tensed and had to fight the impulse to pull her hand away when he kissed it. She let out an inadvertent squeak when he then turned her hand over and kissed her palm, his eyes bright over the rims of his glasses as he watched her reaction. “Relax, Miss Hooper. I think you need a drink.”

“Molly, you should call me Molly.” She met his eyes and he released her hand which she quickly hid along with its mate safely in her lap. “I need a drink is definitely an understatement.”

Mycroft signaled the waiter who was instantly by his side in the sparsely populated dining room. He ordered a bottle of wine which they sipped after ordering dinner. Molly did indeed feel much better after she had taken a few sips and now that Mycroft had stopped touching her. He had made her squirm a bit but not entirely in a bad way. She didn’t know what was more disturbing, Mycroft Holmes kissing her hand or the fact that she had mostly liked it. She could not let herself forget who this man was and what he was capable of. Yes, they were playing a mutually agreed upon game, but trusting him would be a mistake in spite of his warm and inviting façade. For now though she would try to relax and let herself enjoy the fun.

******

Mycroft had indeed taken a nap once he returned to his suite. Choosing to stay in Miss Hooper’s room had taken more out of him than he had anticipated. She had drunk far more than he and had become quite voluble. What they had discussed was trivial, especially making up increasingly farfetched scenarios by which they got back at Sherlock. However, her alcohol intake had not overruled her common sense and he gracefully acquiesced when she insisted he drink some water and take an NSAID. Around midnight she had given up trying to find a comfortable chair in which to sprawl and had ended up lying down on the bed, her head propped up by a pillow or two while he sat in the wing chair adjacent. The conversation had continued for a while but it had not been long before she had fallen asleep.

He sat and watched her for a while, her face relaxed and her breath even. She was an attractive little thing once she stopped rattling with nerves. She had lovely eyes and her smile, when genuine, lit up her face and made one want to smile back. He was not much on smiling but smile he had as the evening wore on. She had even turned out to be a fairly good conversationalist once she had accepted that she was stuck with him for the duration thanks to Sherlock and the weather.

He rose from the wing chair and stretched. He should really be off to his own suite. Quietly, as not to disturb the sleeping woman, he walked over to the window, parted the drapes and looked out on the deserted street below. The snow swirled and drifts were starting to form. It was going to be quite a storm and he was almost certain that Sherlock’s little game might be ruined by the snow. What had his brother been thinking? Throwing him and the pet pathologist together in such a place and such a setting. It puzzled him on several levels; first and most obvious, how could he have predicted a storm that would effectively trap them in Edinburgh? Secondly, how could he know that either he or Molly would opt to play the game? Thirdly, why had he arranged to have them stuck in what was commonly known as one of the most romantic hotels in the UK? Was Sherlock throwing Miss Hooper at him for some reason?

Mycroft shook his head and let the curtain drop. The latter supposition defied all logic. He had no interest in romantic entanglements and Molly Hooper was definitely not his type. Sherlock knew his habits and tastes. He liked tall, lithe, almost masculine women with a hint of the predator about them. Women he could have for a night and forget in the morning. Molly Hooper was as far from this profile as one could get. One could love Molly Hooper and the last thing Mycroft need to complicate his life was something as disruptive and irritating as love.

He had chosen a suite at the Witchery as he was fond of the slightly over-the-top atmosphere and historic elements. He had stayed at several other fine properties in and around the city but always returned here as a special treat. He shook his head in wry amusement, he must be getting predictable in his old age if Sherlock was so confident in his forecast of where Mycroft would be staying. Note to self: next time chose Portugal.

He sighed, Edinburgh had always been a sentimental favorite of his with the old stone facades, castle hill, museums and libraries. He loved London and his country house in Surrey but there was just something about Edinburgh that made it a perfect getaway. Accessible but not too accessible and familiar but with just enough strangeness to be exciting.

He snapped back to reality. An hour had passed as he had indulged in wool gathering and it was getting late. He walked over to the bed and looked down at Miss Hooper. She had curled herself into a ball and looked cold so he crossed to the wardrobe to look for a throw. He opened it up and just as he had thought, there were several fine wool blankets in tartan patterns on the shelf. He took the top one and shook it out. Crossing back to Miss Hooper, he gently covered her, taking care not to wake her. She sighed, turned in her sleep and cuddled into the throw. He smiled in spite of himself and felt a small wave of tenderness for the young woman. Sherlock had led her on a merry dance and yet she had been gracious after her initial anger. Yes, Miss Hooper was indeed an interesting woman.

He was just about to take leave when he paused mid-stride on the way down the short hallway. It was almost certain that Sherlock had both of their rooms under watch. Why not up the score and simply stay the night here? The bed was palatial and Miss Hooper so petite that she would not be disturbed by his presence. Why not let Sherlock think the worst? If he had thrown them together to simply amuse himself perhaps there was such a thing as too much success? He had exhibited a high level of protective behavior in the past where Molly Hooper was concerned. Perhaps if Mycroft played aggressively and appeared to take advantage of the young woman, his actions might unbalance his manipulative little brother enough to motivate him to call off the game.

Molly seemed willing enough to play and he was sure that she would keep things in perspective. He was aware she didn’t like him much and trusted that her innate dislike would protect her as things progressed. If not, little matter as once this small piece of theatre was over, she could just go back to disliking him. In fact she might dislike him even more which would be just fine with him. He did not need friends and he certainly did not need a Molly Hooper making personal assumptions based upon an entertainment. 

Mind made up, he retraced his steps and once again opening the wardrobe, he pulled out a blanket for himself. He sat down in the wing chair, divested himself of his sports jacket, tie and took off his shoes. Very quietly he slipped onto the bed as far from Molly as he possibly could and covered himself. Molly turned in her sleep and he froze. She was now facing him but seemed deeply asleep.

The room was quiet except for the muted wind outside the window. He was tired but sleep still eluded him. Tomorrow she would move into his suite and tomorrow night they would start Sherlock’s little scavenger hunt.

He watched the young woman in bed with him for quite a while, so close and yet so far away. She was…he struggled to find a word. Adorable. She was adorable and the very word made him shudder. Bunnies were adorable, baby ducks were adorable and adorable was not a word he preferred to use. However, adorable she was and he didn’t know what to think about that. Lost in thought, her face was the last thing he remembered as he slipped into sleep.

******

The next morning Miss Hooper, though surprised, had handled the discovery a man in her bed with remarkable equanimity. History with Sherlock he supposed. Surveillance had revealed that though Sherlock seldom visited Miss Hooper at her flat, when he did it was usually in the middle of the night and he did not leave until morning. Dim lights would turn on after his arrival and then, within thirty minutes, switch off. Whatever went on during these visits was unknown but Mycroft was almost certain the main attraction was conversation and a place to sleep. Sherlock always left before dawn and Miss Hooper had never given any indication that their relationship status had changed. Odd but typical of his wayward little brother. Why Miss Hooper put up with him it was anyone’s guess.

He had left her after only a brief conversation and plans to have breakfast. She had looked quite relieved when he had departed and he had noted her wide eyed wonder as he had folded and put away the woolen throw, put on his shoes, doffed his coat and folded and stowed his tie.  She probably thought he slept fully suited including shoes at all times. What a shock to find out he actually had feet. Amusing.

It was still quite early and as he made his way back to his suite he made sure to wear a small, self-satisfied smile. If someone was indeed watching they would note said smile as well as the lack of tie and slightly rumpled demeanor. Sherlock would not be fooled but his spy might be and it was still early days. He was hoping to stir up a bit of alarm in his brother’s breast. If Mycroft could not do that, the game would definitely not be worth the effort.

Reaching his suite without seeing anyone, he entered and made his way to the bedroom. He had perhaps exaggerated when he stated he had a two bedroom suite. However, there was a large day bed that would definitely do for Miss Hooper given her petite size. He carefully hung up his sports jacket and entered the en suite. He had just enough time for a shower and a change of clothes before breakfast. He had some research to do later and might try for a short nap. No adventures today as tomorrow their first challenge lay before them.

Stepping out of the shower sometime later, he donned his the capacious hotel robe and scanned the closet for suitable breakfast wear. The Fair Isle jumper and an ivory shirt would do along with another pair of his corduroys. No need for a tie or jacket as it was just breakfast. He scanned the closet, noting the clear delineation between his current persona and his British government persona. One side warm colors and the other cold. One side soft fabrics and the other hard finish. Even his shoes were exact opposites, the matte glow of saddle tan lace ups and short boots versus the shiny black dress shoes that he mostly wore.

He dropped the robe and caught a glimpse of himself in the full length mirror. Not bad for a man of his age. He had rigorously tried to keep his weight under control and though he was a bit soft around the edges, he was quite strong and had a reasonable amount of endurance. He pinched a small roll at his waistline and grimaced - too much clotted cream – he would have to exercise a bit more self-control. Thankfully he wasn’t too appalled by his appearance unclothed. Not that it mattered of course, as he fully intended stay dressed once Miss Hooper moved in. He slept in his smalls as he was prone to get too hot in the night but avoiding overexposure should be quite easy as Miss Hooper’s day bed was a bit down the hall and the oversized hotel robes hid a great deal. After lights out, he could slip into bed, be comfortable and no one’s modesty would be compromised.

Having settled the domestic arrangements in his head, he quickly finished dressing. He did not want to keep Miss Hooper waiting and was really quite hungry. He would have to remember to transfer the bottle of scotch and inquire as to Miss Hooper’s taste in early evening drinks. No sense in depriving themselves as they were both on a vacation of sorts in spite of the snow. Might as well make the most of this lovely hotel and Sherlock’s little diversion. It would be over in a few days and Miss Hooper would catch the train and his driver would arrive to pick him up, whisk him back to London and life would resume as if nothing had ever happened.

He would miss certain elements of this persona. The beard would have to go as it was just too modern to fit into office life. It also softened his face which would definitely not do. He was loathe to take up shaving again but he was far more intimidating with a bare face. One must keep up appearances. The clothes were far more comfortable too. Perhaps he could explore wearing them in his copious free time? Oh wait, there was never any free time and such indulgences were just that. He had to be resigned to going back to his buttoned up grey and navy world. Odd but it no longer seemed as attractive as it once did. He chafed when forced to grow facial hair and wear different clothes and now he resisted the thought of going back. Human beings were so contrary, even him who was the most reasonable of men.

What was wrong with him? It must be his advancing middle age and perhaps even the beginning of, god help him, a mid-life crisis. Sherlock must have intuited Mycroft’s unease and may have arranged this time in Edinburgh to jolt him back to his senses. That had to be it.  However, why Miss Hooper had been sent was still a mystery to him. In some ways, he would never understand the workings of Sherlock’s mind.

Finished dressing, he glanced one more time into the mirror and left his suite. Breakfast beckoned and Miss Hooper was waiting.

******

Dinner was pleasant once Mycroft had finally stopped touching her. Molly guessed that his little show at the outset had satisfied him and whoever else might be watching. Once she had stopped squirming, the meal had been quite good, the wine even better and now, sipping a Drambuie and watching the fire, she was quite relaxed. Pity her dinner companion was Mycroft Holmes and not some attractive stranger.

Conversation had lagged after the delivery of their after dinner drinks and they were both lost in thought as the evening wound down. It was warm, the candlelight was lovely and it felt as though they were all alone as the dining room had emptied of the few guests that still remained in the hotel. Molly glanced through the window and all could be seen was the glow of the street lamps through the snow. The wind had abated somewhat but eddies of white still flowed and ebbed around large drifts and the snow was still falling at a brisk pace.

She glanced back to her dinner companion and caught Mycroft studying her over the rims of his glasses. She resisted the impulse to drop her gaze even though it was a struggle. Why was he staring at her? She felt a short flash of annoyance which quickly turned to something else altogether. If only he weren’t acting. If only he were someone else. If only Sherlock hadn’t sent her on this fool’s errand.

Setting down the last of his drink, he spoke. “It is late and there will be much to do tomorrow. Please allow me to walk you back to your suite.”

Molly nodded and drained the small draft of sweet liqueur from her glass. She pushed back her chair and Mycroft was immediately by her side, taking her hand to help her up. Slightly startled she automatically acquiesced. His hand was warm and she felt slight resistance as she tried to reclaim hers. She met his eyes and he looked down at her with a slight smile and raised one eyebrow. She blushed and after a brief hesitation on her part, they walked out of the restaurant hand in hand.  

Molly felt an unwanted wave of yearning as they navigated the halls and stairs. She had thought she wasn’t lonely. That her cat, her mates and her work was enough. She both wanted and didn’t want to play this game. Sherlock having her on was bad enough but to be trapped in this beautiful place with a beautiful man and not being able to do anything about it was so hard. She felt her eyes well up but blinked back the unwanted tears. Not the time or place to lose control.

In silence, they reached the door of her room. As if catching her mood, Mycroft stayed mute as he let go of her hand, took her key and opened the door to her suite. He turned and she looked down, unable to meet his eyes. She did not want him to see her, see the need that she so desperately was trying to suppress.

He paused and then gently reached out and tipped her face up so he could look into her eyes. She felt a wave of discomfort and glanced away trying to hide what she was really feeling. She knew he could tell that there was something amiss. He cocked his head to the side and without giving her any warning, he put his arms around her and pulled her close.

She suddenly felt overwhelmed by his height, the warmth of his body through his clothes and his subtle sandalwood scent. She stiffened and tried to pull away but his hold on her was strong. He lowered his head to hers and whispered into her ear, “Goodnight, Molly. I will call you in the morning.” His voice was like velvet and she felt shiver that was very much like desire run up her back.

He abruptly let her go and stepped away. Flustered, she stumbled slightly and backed away towards the safety of her suite. “Uhhh…OK, that’s good. Yes, tomorrow… I guess I have to move after breakfast so I’ll see you then. Call me or something, OK?” Good god, she sounded like a blithering idiot.

Mycroft shot her a piercing look, inclined his head in acknowledgement and walked away. Molly looked after his retreating back, took a deep breath, turned and darted back into her room. Closing the door, she leaned back against it and closed her eyes. Thank god that was over. She hoped that he had perceived her upset as innate dislike as opposed to misplaced attraction. None the less, it was attraction and no matter how sick and wrong it was, there was no denying it. Bloody hell, what had she gotten herself into?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 

Mycroft sipped his coffee and leaned back into his chair as he watched first light come up through the windows of his suite. It was still very early but he had woke before dawn, his mind busy and his emotions uncertain. He checked the Met weather and though the initial storm had passed in the night another was on the way and would arrive this evening. Looking out his window he noted that though the snow had thinned it was still falling and the wind had not abated. He called room service for coffee and declined the offer of early delivery of breakfast. He would wait to eat as he had thinking to do and caffeine would hone his focus and he pondered what to do about Molly Hooper.

Last night had been odd. Somewhere during the course of the evening slightly nervous to gently teasing Molly had gone, replaced with a Molly that seemed quite pensive. By the time the evening drew to a close, pensive Molly had transformed into sad and vulnerable Molly. At the door of her suite, her former bravado had vanished, and he could feel the uncertainty and reluctance coming off of her in waves. When he took her into his arms and pulled her close, she had frozen and yet seemed to lean into him as he spoke into her ear. Her body reluctantly softened, her breath became shallow and he could feel her pulse, rapid as a panicked bird. She then stiffened, as if remembering herself, and reverted to her stuttering, insecure and quite irritating persona before bolting into her suite.

Mycroft leaned back, set down his empty cup and stared at the wall. How could regular people live with these constantly shifting and irrational emotional states?  He thought she understood. How could have the evening gotten so far away from him? They had agreed to this charade to throw Sherlock off of his game. Had she changed her mind?

The best course of action for them both would be to back off. Why had he told her she could move into his suite?  Though large, there was only one lavatory and that day bed seemed a lot closer than it had the previous day. It had all been so clear yesterday and yet last night it had all changed.

He rose and went to the window. Looking down at the drifting snow, he knew that her moving in was inevitable. Nothing was stirring on the street and he was sure the trains were not yet running. He could more than likely escape by ringing up Charles but he was loathe to interrupt his driver’s family visit in Glasgow and requiring him to drive in these conditions. No, the plan would have to move forward.

Why did he care how she felt? She meant nothing to him. He turned from the window and returned to his wing chair, shaking his head. Applying logic to the situation, it was obvious that on some level he did care about Molly Hooper and he didn’t like it one bit. He would avoid her today and let hotel staff facilitate her move. He only hoped Sherlock would text relatively early so to expedite their first ordeal.

******

Molly had a restless night plagued by dreams barely remembered. She had risen twice to look out her window at the falling snow and fret over Mycroft Holmes. Why had she agreed to join forces with him to flummox Sherlock? Last night had dimmed her enthusiasm for the project as Mycroft was seriously getting under her skin. It was that damned beard and those perfect tortoise shell glasses, they had turned her head and made her forget what a snake he really was.

No sign of the snake this morning, thank goodness, and she enjoyed her solitary breakfast basket in peace. Damn him if he would spoil her last few days of vacation and double damn Sherlock for tricking her into this travesty. She was an intelligent and accomplished woman who would not let her emotions get the better of her. She would play this wretched role and play it well, no matter the cost. She wouldn’t give Mycroft Holmes the satisfaction of seeing her quaver just because she found him attractive.

Molly rolled her eyes and flopped down into her chair. She blew out an exasperated breath and shook her head at her folly. She found Mycroft Holmes attractive; it was enough to make a cat laugh. He had been so pleasant to her last night and she had secretly enjoyed his attentiveness and brief touches during dinner. She had fooled herself that the man sitting across from her was her handsome Scot and not his evil twin. What a joke on her that a man she so despised had revived her long suppressed yearning for a lover. Repeat after me, Miss Molly… Mycroft Holmes is a snake. When you look at him ignore that beard, those glasses and those stormy blue eyes and remember what a right bastard he has always been and always would be.

She closed her eyes and leaned back, pulling a throw over her lap. Her restless night was catching up with her and she yawned. Mycroft was indeed a bastard but when he had held her last night, his warmth and scent had almost overwhelmed her. Hell’s bells, she thought as she drifted off to sleep, I must be mad to want to continue but I do. She would play all right and give him as good as she got. Time to be brave and take what she wanted, sham or no sham. Ready or not, here I come, Mycroft Holmes, she thought as she drifted off to sleep. Two can definitely play at this game and heaven help the third. Sherlock would pay and it wasn’t just his Amex card that would suffer when she got back to London.

******

The move from the Heriot suite had gone easier than expected as Mycroft had made himself scarce all day. He had left her a voice mail as she napped stating that he would be out all day visiting a friend and would see her after dinner. She was to text him when Sherlock sent the address to their first challenge.  She had been somewhat relieved not to see him and rang up James to help her with her luggage. She snagged the scotch and the last untouched bottle of champagne and stowed it in her hand baggage. No use leaving behind good alcohol when she just might need it.

She was happy to have James handle the luggage as to reach the Old Rectory suite one had to climb a set of ancient stone turret stairs. They were grey and worn and positively medieval.  Winding in a tight circle, they would have been a challenge for her alone. There was a small rolling cart next to the door which she assumed was for staff use to ease food delivery after the steep climb. James paused as she reached the top of the stairs and setting down her bag, he opened the door to allow her to proceed into the suite.

It certainly was red and it certainly was gothic. Like her former suite, it had a unique charm all its own, though it was much larger and theatrically decorated. It was rather churchy overall with an unmistakable overlay of sensuality. She noted that Mycroft had rather exaggerated when he told her it was a two bedroom but the day bed could accommodate at least three people her size once she divested it of its colorful pillows. Also, the space also offered at least a modicum of privacy from the gigantic gothic bed across the main room which was reassuring. She could do without the stern commandments looming over her bed though. Though shall not covet indeed.

James followed her in and placed her bag in the sitting room. “Quite the showplace, isn’t it Miss? It is one of the larger suites and has more windows than any other. It also has the largest bathroom in the hotel if you can find it behind this secret door.”

He opened the door with a flourish and she squeaked in delight when she entered the sumptuous loo with its free-standing double tub and double sinks.  Still time for a bath if Mycroft was to be out all day, how nice for her. Plenty of room in here even though she would have to share. Mycroft’s toiletry bag was neatly stowed near one of the sinks and there was a faint scent of sandalwood in the air. She sobered as she thought of Mycroft and was once again relieved she didn’t have to see him for a while.

James caught her fleeting expression. He paused as he was leaving and looked uncomfortably at her. “Are you sure, Miss? It’s not my place but we can always find you another place to stay.”

Molly smiled reassuringly at him as stood at the head of the curving stair. “Thank you, James. This will do nicely and you have nothing to worry about.” Reassured if still a bit doubtful, he nodded and disappeared down the stairs.

Molly shut the door and re-entered the lair of Mycroft Holmes. She silently unpacked and after carefully rearranging Mycroft’s things in the closet and the drawers, she put away her things. Her feminine clothes looked odd next to his. She noted the schizophrenic juxtaposition of his two personas in the closet and shook her head. At least she only had one identity even if it had become a bit more polished in recent years.  She was sure he would take umbrage at her touching his things but he would just have to deal. It was bad enough that all of her clothes would smell like him when she finally got out of here.

Finished with her clothing, she turned to the lavatory. She placed her toiletry bag on the gothic chair that sat between the two sinks and put her shampoo in the shower. She picked up the amber soap and was startled to discover that it was sandalwood. The soap in her previous suite had been lovely but not this scent. Good lord, had Mycroft brought his own soap? A quick check verified that that hotel soap had all been neatly stacked, still wrapped on a small wall shelf. Interesting.

Feeling like a sneak, she surreptitiously examined the remainder of Mycroft’s personal items. Custom shampoo, custom soap, straight razor in a fine leather case, a luxurious boar bristle hair brush and other exclusive toiletries that were well above her budget. She snorted in amusement as she looked at his elegant leather case across from her cloth paisley one. What an odd couple they were to be in such close proximity.

It was early afternoon and so far no word from Sherlock. She looked at the bathtub and after checking to make sure the secret door could be locked, she decided to run a bath. A quick look at the discard shelf produced a bottle of hotel bath salts. Silver Birch, what a lovely name. She set the bath to running and stripped quickly, folding her clothes and wrapping herself in the smaller of the soft, white hotel robes. She stood and ran her hand down the fine cotton of the larger robe still hanging on the back of the door. Feeling wicked, she stepped up to it and buried her face into the soft fabric, drinking in sandalwood and spice.

Stupid. She was just stupid. She let the robe drop and turned her back on it. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and shook her head. Time to soak her head, though not literally. She twisted her hair up into a high loose bun and secured it with a gold clip. She opened her phone, picked one of her favorite Celtic recordings and set it on shelf. Grabbing a flannel and suppressing an urge to cover the portrait of a very stuffy gentleman with a towel, she dropped her robe on the gothic chair and climbed into the hot, sweetly scented water. The scent was heady, woody with an undertone of incense. She sank into its heat and leaned back against the curved side of the tub, feeling herself relax. She closed her eyes and listened to the soaring feminine voices singing about lost love. It was torture but it was sweet torture, staged and chosen by her.

******

Cold…Well Edinburgh had certainly turned out to be just that. Mycroft entered the lobby of the hotel, shook the snow off of his fine wool coat, engaged briefly with the clerk at the front desk to deliver tea to his suite and wound his way to the foot of the turret stairs. He paused for a beat, not knowing what he might face upon arrival, but he was chilled and hungry and wanted his tea. He was sure Molly would want her tea as well and so, mind made up, he mounted the stairs.

He hesitated again at the door of the suite. Should he knock? What if she was getting dressed? He did not want to surprise her but the tea would be delivered in less than twenty minutes and he would like to warm up by the fire before it arrived. Damn and blast, this was just absurd, it was his suite after all. He shook his head in aggravation, unlocked the door and went inside.

No sign of Molly. He took off his damp coat just caught himself just before throwing it on the day bed. No sense in getting her bed wet. He took note of her suitcase, neatly stowed next to the wall. Although there was no sign of her, she had obviously made the move. He crossed the room and opened the closet to hang up his coat. He cocked his head as he studied the altered contents. There were women’s clothes in his closet, how bizarre. She had neatly pushed his clothes together and hung hers next to the garb of his alter ego. Wool, silks and cotton, the earthen colors and natural fabrics blending with his. Very nice. Her shoes sat next to his on the floor and were surprisingly large for such a small woman. He caught the scent of freesia, thought about that scent clinging to his clothes like a flowery ghost and quickly shut the closet door.

Returning to the center of the room, he thought he heard something and cocked his head to listen. Music, he heard soft music. He crossed to the hidden bathroom door, found it locked and stood to listen. All was silent except for a quiet blend of female voices and orchestra. He knocked softly on the door. “Molly, tea will be here soon.”

There was no answer but he heard a small splash and what sounded like a low moan. Was she in the bath? Why wasn’t she answering him? Feeling a rising sense of unease, he knocked louder. Still no response. He raised his voice, “Molly, Miss Hooper, are you all right?” Still no response and in an instant his mind was made up.

Crossing to the writing desk, he opened the drawer and withdrew a larger paper clip. He bent it straight and returned to the hidden door. Like most hotel doors, it had a safety lock which allowed access from the outside. Inserting the clip into the knob, be pushed it home and heard the click of the lock disengaging.

******

Molly was dreaming. The air was soft and humid and filled with an earthy, sensual sweetness. She was blissfully warm and relaxed and the water felt like liquid velvet on her skin. She shifted and became aware of a slow burn between her legs. Nice, she mused, and shifted her weight to expose herself even more to the warm, silky water. She hesitated and then let her hand migrate south. It wouldn’t take much and she deserved this much pleasure at least. 

Her back arched and she heard the water slosh as a slight moan escaped her throat. Close, so close… If only it were a tongue and not her hand. If only it were a tongue, and lips and a beard and those long, clever fingers…

The door to the bath crashed open, jolting her out of her dream. Before she fully remembered where she was or what she was doing, she squeaked in alarm, scrabbled for the bathtub rim and leapt up. Opening her eyes, she found herself looking straight into the eyes of a surprised and somewhat stunned Mycroft Holmes. She felt a quick flush race up her chest and settle into her face, making her feel hotter than she already was. Where the hell was her robe? Why the hell had Mycroft Holmes broken into the lav while she was… Oh dear, how much had he seen? Hells bells, she was starkers, still heavily aroused and there was a fully dressed man staring at her.

******

Mycroft, his concern rising, felt the latch give way and pushed the door open with a bit more force than was possibly merited. The door crashed into the stop, there was an abrupt squeak of alarm from the tub, and a very pink and very naked Molly Hooper stood up. Mycroft stopped dead. Her hair was up and strands trailed damply around her flushed face. Her skin glistened with water and trails of white bubbles slid down her body. She looked disoriented but as her eyes locked with his, he saw a dawning realization on her face and she flushed bright red. Her eyes darted to her robe, casually thrown over the gothic chair between the sinks. Her eyes darted back to his and her mouth opened as if to say something but nothing came out but an unintelligible groan of mortification. The gentle swell of a Celtic soprano played on in the background, incongruous with the tension in the room.

He too flushed to the roots of his hair and stood, perhaps a moment too long for good manners, staring at Molly when he abruptly snapped out of his shock and averting his eyes, dashed across the lav and scooped up her robe. Eyes still averted, face flaming, mind racing, he held out her robe to her, looking everywhere but at her nakedness.

“Sorry, so sorry…thought you might be, uh…having trouble in the tub. Worried so jimmied the door lock…” Mycroft sighed inwardly, he sounded like a babbling fifteen year old. He felt Molly take the robe from his hand and turned his back, edging towards the door. He seized the door frame like the edge of life raft, drew himself upright, took a deep breath and spoke, his voice almost normal.

“Tea. The tea will be here soon. I will wait for you outside.” Brilliant, just brilliant. So much for his iron control and cool head. There was still no sound from Molly and her silence spoke volumes. Mycroft rolled his eyes at his precipitous actions, let go of his iron grip on the door and closed it softly behind him wishing he was still out in the cold street and as far away from Molly Hooper as possible.

He crossed the room and sat abruptly in a wing chair, leaned back and rubbed his hand across his forehead. He felt the beginnings of a headache and willed the tea to arrive as soon as possible. Had she been doing what he thought he saw her doing? Good Christ, he had to get himself under control. He tried to delete the image of her pink flesh from his mind but all he succeeded in doing was refresh every detail of her nakedness. Oh, wasn’t she was exquisite?  He felt a wave of hard desire through his embarrassment and his nostrils flared. Must stop thinking about those not-so-small breasts and dark triangle of hair at the juncture of her thighs. He shifted in his suddenly tight trousers and sighed in relief as there was a knock on the door.

Tea, the tea had arrived, thank goodness. Where there was tea there was hope and sanity and staunch British resolve. They would have tea like civilized people, forget what had just transpired and prepare for the first of Sherlock’s little entertainments. He was going to throttle his little brother as soon as he got back to London. Thanks to dear Sherlock he had a painful erection, a naked and more than likely angry young woman in his loo and at least two more days of pure snow-bound hell ahead.

He shook his head and rose to get the door. Tea, in spite of its comforts, more than likely would be an insufficient salve to Miss Hooper’s dignity. Perhaps a drop of scotch in each cup? Had Molly thought to bring it over from her suite? Yes, there it was on a side table. Just enough to take the edge off? Excellent idea and he was certain Molly would agree once she decided to leave the now questionable safety of the loo.

He took the tea cart from the maid, shut the door and rolled it over to the small side table.  He looked doubtfully at the still closed secret door, sat back down in the wing chair and poured a small dram of amber liquid into his tea cup. No use diluting it with tea either. Might as well get a head start while he was awaiting the next round of pain. Oh, why had he ever decided to come to Scotland?


End file.
